


binary relations

by st_elsewhere



Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M, now accepting your screaming at the ending whoops, pr0n on chapter 2 lol, rated M for mention of sex, super late halloween themed fic i guess, the i wake up in parallel world trope
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-05
Updated: 2016-11-05
Packaged: 2018-08-27 22:52:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8420290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/st_elsewhere/pseuds/st_elsewhere
Summary: it seems quite safe to play along for now.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [goldandrust](https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldandrust/gifts).



> for my great, great friendo @goldandrust .
> 
> years ago i read an amazing fic from awesome author who's no longer active. [their LJ is here.](http://hotpixel.livejournal.com/profile) this one is inspired by their story. i borrowed the concept, but i hope i wrote it as my own. plz tell me whachu think *nods nods*

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

rafinha wakes up to the whistling of a kettle. he’s sleeping on his left side, and he’s facing an opened window. blinking, he can clearly see the colorful begonias on the balcony. not his, though. they’re on the balcony across, where the windows are closed and the building is painted bright red.

wait.

sitting up as quick as a lightning without minding his state of wakefulness is not a good idea. he feels a little bit light-headed. this is not his room.

first of all, it’s a small but neat room with a king-sized bed and a giant poster of some anime or game character; framed and clearly beloved. the floor to ceiling mirrors are probably sliding doors to a walk-in closet, and there’s a classic records player in wooden suitcase on top of an ikea minimalist stand.

“hey,” says someone from the door, and marc comes in, shirtless, less defined, heading straight to the walk-in closet. “i made scrambled egg.”

the room is bathed in sunlight. it’s warming up rafinha’s skin. he looks skinnier as he stares at himself on the mirrors, his hair is longer like the last time and his beard is nowhere to be found; only a five o’clock shadow.

this is not his room. _that man is not me._

“feeling the monday blues, _mi sol_?”

monday? yesterday was wednesday because neymar uses his ugly backpack on wednesday to training!

“what?” rafinha manages to croak out, not familiar at all with his voice.

marc emerges with a plain grey t-shirt and a smile. a _very_ fond smile.

“i understand if you’re still mad at me.” marc climbs the bed, scooting closer to pinch rafinha’s chin, squeezing _fondly_. “i’ll make it up to you on friday, yeah? i promise.” and then he leans in to press a chaste kiss to rafinha’s lips and upon thisclose marc _smells just like him_.

what the fuck.

 _what the fuck??_ rafinha thinks louder in his head, panicking as marc snakes an arm to his waist, pulling him closer, kissing him deeper.

“rafael?” marc lets go, moving his hands to caress rafinha’s hair gently and then cupping his face.

“d-don’t call me that!” rafinha gasps, pushing at marc’s shoulders. he wipes his lips with the back of his hand and that makes marc frown.

he flinches when marc puts a bigbigbig hand on his left knee.

“i’m—i’m sorry. i don’t.” rafinha swallows down bitter saliva. his hands are shaking and he’s determined not to look up to see any apparent emotion from marc’s face. or whoever it is with him on the bed who kissed him like he meant it. if rafinha is not mistaken, marc, his teammate, the level-headed german, has a _girlfriend_.

“i... i feel faint.”

“you do look ill,” marc agrees, and this time his big hands are welcomed as they rest on rafinha’s neck. “do you want me to call in sick?”

rafinha wants to say he can notify camp tito, but he’s nearly hysterical when he catches himself in realization. right.

“do you want me to bring the breakfast here?” marc uses his thumbs to draw soothing circles on rafinha’s cheeks. “do you need anything?”

“i’m fine,” rafinha shakes his head. “i’m sorry i didn’t mean to—to yell at you.” he casts a quick glance to find marc is already forgiving him with another set of fond smile.

“alright then, i should get going.” marc kisses his forehead and rafinha has to fist the duvet or else he’s going to _scream_. “see you tonight. wait, do you want the cheesecake i told you about? i’ll cook dinner.”

it seems quite safe to play along for now. rafinha is grateful for marc’s very out of characterization, although he has to admit that it’s weird to see marc being this _talkative_.

but then again what kind of dream that makes sense, anyway?

rafinha nods, sighing as he gathers his will to give marc a quick hug. that’s the least he can do. _this_ marc, whoever _this_ is, seems like a good man. and he must be confused too. “yeah, that sounds good. thank you, marc. i’ll just catch more sleep.”

there is a pause.

“of course, _mi sol_.” marc pinches his chin again before he gets to his feet. he has a slight change on his expression that rafinha can’t be bothered to decipher. this is just a dream, after all.

 

 

 

indeed it is. the next time rafinha wakes up he’s back _in his room_. spacious and sleek and dominated by blue. he thanks god for everything and curses because he’s late to training.

 

* * *

 

but it doesn’t stop.

he will fall asleep as himself, a barcelona player, and wake up in marc’s arms where it’s always warm and sunny and he’s someone else’s. he’s marc’s, who always has a slight change on his expression whenever his name is called but never mentions anything, just like how rafinha is getting used to marc’s fondly articulated _rafael_ , of all things.

when he falls asleep as _rafael_ , as marc’s the one and only _mi sol_ , he will wake up alone and he will feel like he doesn’t belong.

(when he’s himself, neymar’s princesa and the club’s hardworking jokester, he spends less time with marc, who has a girlfriend. he’s so used to being _rafael_ when he falls asleep that he’s afraid he will be _rafael_ when he’s wide awake because _rafael_ will gravitate towards marc like a moth to the flame; he will tilt his head, asking for a kiss without having to say a word and he will do whatever marc is teasing him about, because it seems like marc, _rafael’s marc_ , knows there’s something going on with his _mi sol_ and he will teasingly ask rafinha whether _aren’t you going to giving me a side-eye because that girl just gave me_ the _look, darling,_ or _aren’t you going to pretend to be annoyed that i can’t tie a tie?_ or _aren’t you going to argue with me that froot loops are better than corn flakes whenever we go grocery shopping?_ as if he’s trying to mend rafinha, who’s suspiciously not _rafael_.)

 

* * *

 

it gets easier after this:

the el classico was a nightmare in itself. he had failed the penalty, and they lost to real madrid by staggering three nil. camp nou was too loud and rafinha couldn’t forget everything; the thrill, the disappointment, the gloomy locker room afterward. he recalled asking for a valet service because he didn’t feel like driving his audi by himself, and the driver was an old man who was too polite. it didn’t help, but he got home in one piece however doomed his day was, and when he fell asleep, he dreamt of his failed penalty and woke up to the other marc worriedly checking up on him.

rafinha never liked it when he’s called _rafael_ , not even here where he was supposed to be _him_. he just got used to it. so he kissed marc to shut him up because he’s alright, _i’m alright, marc, please make me forget._

marc didn’t use a condom, and rafinha, still desperate to feel like he’s himself again, remembered he wasn’t supposed to freak out because that’s just how _serious_ this marc and his _rafael_ were. rafinha is not _rafael_ , though, but the sex was so, so good he didn’t think he could walk after. but he did, like nothing happened—like he wasn’t fucked to oblivion the night before—because when he woke up he’s alone, like always.

it gets easier because when rafinha wakes up as _rafael_ , from then on, marc seems to be able to tolerate rafinha moaning his name in infinite bliss then proceed to fuck rafinha, not _rafael_ like he probably thinks, harder, while rafinha takes it all; on his hands and knees or shakily riding marc’s huge, cut cock, or that one time they feel slightly adventurous—in a pulsating club’s restroom. after the fourth time, rafinha learns how to deep-throat and he likes the quiet, murmured praises marc sends him because he knows he’s a really, really good boy.

 

* * *

 

rafael wakes up.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
